From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  Walker was the ultimate authority figure: straight back, patient stance, and cold, cold eyes. He used to run the Nightside, that dark and dangerous place, inasmuch as anyone could. And did it with a ruthless efficiency that inspired respect in gods and monsters. He was much admired, even more feared, and liked by . . . remarkably few people. Not that he ever gave a damn about that, of course. He leaned nonchalantly on his rolled umbrella now, bestowing on me his most enigmatic smile. As though he knew far more than I did. More than anyone did.

  Daring me to try something.

  I have to say, I felt a little shocked to see Walker standing so easily and so freely on Drood family grounds. Even if this wasn’t the real Drood grounds. Walker and I might have been allies on occasion, and even worked together once, to bring down the Independent Agent, but even so, he had no right to be here. Walker was far too dangerous a man to ever be allowed in Drood territory. And besides, if my family were banned from the Nightside by long-established Pacts and Agreements, it seemed only right and proper that all the creatures of the Nightside should be banned from setting foot in Drood territory.

  “Hello, Eddie,” Walker said easily. “Welcome to the Shifting Lands. So good of you to join us.”

  I glared at him. “Doesn’t anyone stay dead any more? This seems to be my day for being bothered by ghosts with familiar faces. Memories from my past. Am I supposed to be glad to see you? It’s been a long time since you and I were on the same side . . .” And then I broke off as a sudden insight struck me. I stabbed an accusing finger at him. “Except, you’re not really him, are you? You’re not Walker! You’re whoever or whatever pretended to be Walker, back when I was caught hovering between Life and Death, trapped in the Winter Hall, in Limbo’s waiting room. You tried to pressure me into giving up important information, personal and family secrets . . .”

  “Perhaps,” said Walker, entirely unmoved by my accusations or my anger. “But I feel I should warn you, Eddie; you don’t come to the Shifting Lands for certainties. This face will do as well as any other.”

  “All right,” I said. “What are you doing here, Walker? I don’t have time for games. I have business of my own to be about.”

  “I am here because the Powers That Be require me to be here,” said Walker. “And now they want you.”

  “Where’s Molly?” I said.

  “Oh, she’s around, somewhere,” said Walker.

  “Where?”

  “Around,” said Walker. “Somewhere. Don’t get testy with me, Eddie. You’re in no position to make demands; not here. You’re on the same footing as everyone else in this place. Molly is . . . waiting, preparing to take her place in the Big Game.”

  “Molly was kidnapped!” I said, and the cold anger in my voice would have been enough to warn off anyone else. “Taken from the Wulfshead and brought here against her will.” I gave Walker my best slow, threatening smile. “What makes you think you can hold Molly Metcalf? Especially now I’m here.”

  Walker sighed, as though faced with a particularly difficult, and not very bright, small child. “It doesn’t matter how anyone gets here, Eddie; they all stay of their own free will. Ready, and indeed eager, to participate in the Big Game in the hope of winning a way out of the terrible and awful obligations they agreed to when they first made Pacts and Agreements at the beginning of their career. Obligations that are now coming due; promises made that must be paid. And your Molly did agree to so many things, to acquire the power she needed to take on your family. She wanted, needed, revenge for the Droods’ murder of her parents. And she didn’t care what she had to do, or agree to, as long as it would get her the power she needed.

  “And then . . . she fell in love with you. A Drood. Funny how things work out, isn’t it? Of course she must have known, even if she never discussed it with you, that she could never hope to pay off everything she owed in one lifetime. So what do you think will happen to her after she dies? And all those debts come due? I really don’t like to think about it. She made promises to Heaven and to Hell, to so many Powers and Dominations. They’ll tear her soul apart, arguing over who has the best right to it.”

  He stopped as he saw the look on my face. “Of course, if you were to support her, she would stand a much better chance in the Big Game.”

  I took a step towards Walker, my hands clenched into fists, and then stopped myself. This was what Walker wanted, what he did; he got people angry, and off balance, so they’d be that much easier to out-think and manipulate. For his own ends. So I stood my ground and stared coldly at him.

  “You always did have a taste for blackmail, Walker.”

  He shrugged easily, unmoved. “Stick with what works, that’s what I always say.”

  “I have been told,” I said carefully, “that Molly was taken by the Powers That Be. And that if they’d wanted me, they could have just as easily taken me at the same time. So if they didn’t want me then, why are they so keen I should take part in their Big Game now?”

  “Because you’re the first one to break in,” said Walker. “The Powers That Be admire that. They’re impressed, and that really doesn’t happen very often. Trust me . . . They’re fascinated to see what you might do next.”

  “What if I decide I don’t want to take part in their damned Game?” I said. “What if I’m just here to break Molly out?”

  “You can’t,” said Walker. “With or without your family, or your quite remarkable armour, you’re no match for the Powers That Be. This . . . is their world. They made it. Everything here answers to them. The very rules of reality in this place change from moment to moment, according to what the Powers That Be want them to be. And I have to tell you, Eddie, Molly doesn’t want to leave. She wants the way out that winning the Game offers her. She knows what’s waiting for her, at the end, all the awful things in store for her . . . and even the infamous wild witch is sensible enough to be scared of that. It’s one thing to take on such an appalling burden when you’re young, and driven by rage and revenge. It’s quite another to see the awful things you’ve condemned yourself to drawing nearer day by day, and to know there’s no way out.”

  “My family have entered into a great many Pacts and Agreements of their own,” I said. “They have power to call on that could be used for the cancelling of debts . . .”

  “Not here,” said Walker. “We’re a long way from anywhere your family has influence or power. You’re all Molly’s got, Eddie.”

  “Always,” I said.

  I took another step forward, until Walker and I were practically face-to-face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t fall back.

  “Where’s Molly?” I said. “I could make you tell me . . .”

  “No, you couldn’t,” said Walker.

  I started to reach for the Colt Repeater at my hip, in its hidden pocket dimension, and then I hesitated, and stopped myself. The real Walker had a Voice that could not be resisted or denied. That could make you do anything, anything at all. There are those who say he once made a corpse sit up on its slab in the mortuary to answer his questions. And there was always the chance . . . that this was the real Walker. People in the Nightside don’t follow the usual rules about anything, including Life and Death. Walker could have faked his own death, for reasons of his own. He’d done stranger and sneakier things, in his time. If my uncle Jack could come back . . . If he had come back . . . I took my hand away from my side, away from my stash of hidden weapons and dirty tricks. I didn’t want to reveal all my cards, all my nasty little secrets, just yet. Not until I had a better understanding of the lay of the land, and the rules of the Big Game.

  I looked at Walker, and he looked calmly back at me. As though he knew everything I’d just been thinking. Which was very Walker . . .

  “So,” I said, “is it just you, or have you brought a few friends and colleagues with you? Like John Taylor, or Shotgun Suzie?”

  “Perish the thought,” said
Walker. “They’re far too busy running the Nightside in my absence. And the Powers That Be are very careful about who they let into this world. Those two would wreck the place.”

  “What gives these Powers authority over you?” I said. “I didn’t think anyone could order you around. You’ve faced down gods and devils in the Nightside, in your time.”

  “Oh, I have,” said Walker. “Really. You have no idea. But this . . . is different.”

  I waited, but that was all he had to say on the matter.

  “The real Walker would never put up with that,” I said.

  “You’re right,” said Walker. “He wouldn’t. Unless, of course, it served some hidden purpose of his own.”

  “Okay, you’re making my head hurt now,” I said. “Which is the best argument yet that you are the real deal.”

  I looked around me, at the green grass and the blue sky, the bright Summer sun and the unmoving clouds. The empty grounds, and the utter silence surrounding us. More than ever it all looked like a stage set. A simple background for the play to come. I thought about the sheer power it would take to make a world like this. To create a whole separate reality, just to have somewhere suitable to play your Game. Unless . . . Walker wasn’t telling me the truth. Or all of the truth.

  “Where are we, really?” I said. “These aren’t the actual Drood grounds.”

  “Of course not,” said Walker. “They’re just here to help you feel at home. To put you at your ease.”

  “Definitely not working,” I said.

  “We’re in a private pocket dimension,” said Walker. “A world created specifically to hold the Big Game. The Shifting Lands, far from everywhere and of their own unique nature. Because nothing less would do.”

  I took that with a pinch of salt. There was always the chance the Powers That Be had simply discovered the Shifting Lands and taken them over for their own use. I didn’t trust anything about this deceitful world that had lied to me from the moment I arrived. And I definitely didn’t trust Walker. Of course, he knew that when he started telling me things . . .

  “So,” I said, “what does this place really look like, when it isn’t pretending to be Drood grounds?”

  “Don’t ask me,” said Walker. “I’m just a visitor, like yourself. Only with rather more privileges. Think of me as the umpire. Feel free to come to me with all your little problems.”

  “You really are pushing it now,” I said.

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  I thought for a moment of the subtle realms, of the soft world where I met Melanie Blaze. That had been a private pocket dimension too, where the world changed according to the wishes of those who lived there. Could I be back there and not know it? It seemed to me that ever since I’d walked through that damned Travel Bureau Door, I hadn’t been able to trust anything.

  “Who are the Powers That Be?” I said.

  “Ah,” said Walker, “that would be telling.”

  “Do you know?”

  “Of course I know. But you don’t . . . How unusual. I thought Droods knew everything. No doubt the Powers That Be will tell you when they want you to know.”

  I decided I’d had enough, and so I armoured up. Golden strange matter flowed out of my torc and covered me in a moment, and just like that I felt stronger and faster, more awake and more certain. Walker fell back a step in spite of himself. Not surprising, really. The last thing a lot of people ever saw in their life was an angry Drood in his armour, advancing on them. Coming for them. I lifted one golden fist and let Walker see the heavy spikes rising up from the knuckles. And then, quite suddenly, someone else appeared, to stand between Walker and me. The sheer impact of her presence stopped me in my tracks—and there aren’t many who can do that. Walker peered out from behind her, and smiled easily.

  “This is my protector. The Somnambulist. Isn’t she splendid?”

  I looked her over carefully. I could sense the power burning in her, the dangerous strength and speed, even though she was quite clearly fast asleep. Her eyes were tightly closed, but the eyeballs still moved. Rapid Eye Movements. The Somnambulist was dreaming.

  She had a sharp chin and prominent cheekbones, a formidably pretty face, packed full of character, and more than a hint of ethnic Gypsy about her. She could have been anything from her twenties to her forties. Dark russet hair fell in thick ringlets to her shoulders and beyond. Her arms lay limp and unmoving at her sides, but still managed to suggest they were ready for action at a moment’s notice. She had large, bony hands, with heavy knuckles, weighed down by a great many gold and silver rings, set with strange and unfamiliar gems. She wore traditional Romany clothes, Gypsy chic, complete with a hell of a lot of necklaces, bangles, and bracelets. She stood almost unnaturally still, between me and Walker, blocking the way. Walker smiled easily at me over her shoulder.

  “This is my personal assistant,” he said.

  “You mean bodyguard,” I said.

  “That too!”

  “Why would Walker need a bodyguard?” I said. “When he never needed one in the Nightside, possibly the most dangerous place there is? After all, with or without his Voice, Walker was always an extraordinarily dangerous person in his own right. So I have to ask, who or what do you need protecting from in the Shifting Lands?”

  “They do things differently here,” said Walker. “Not all the dangers in this setting are immediately obvious. The Somnambulist . . . is quite extraordinarily powerful. For as long as she sleeps, she has the strength of dreams. She was once Carrys Galloway, the legendary Waking Beauty of that small but significant country town, Bradford-on-Avon.”

  I nodded, remembering the story Molly had told me of her visit there, and her encounter with Carrys. The woman who never slept. Had never slept, for centuries upon centuries. Molly and her sister Isabella helped Carrys break her long-standing pact with the elven Queen Mab so she could finally sleep again.

  “And now she’s sleeping hard, making up for lost time,” said Walker. As though he’d been listening in on my thoughts. “But she still has to pay off her debts to the Powers That Be for brokering the original deal those many years ago. Now she protects me from all threats. Until she wakes up.”

  “Why?” I said. “Why do you need her?”

  “The Game has been known to get a bit boisterous sometimes,” said Walker. “The players aren’t always willing to accept a decision that goes against them. Not when there’s so much riding on it.”

  “Since when does the mighty Walker need an enforcer?”

  “It is the nature of the Shifting Lands that they are constantly changing,” said Walker. “Particularly during the Game. I can’t be everywhere at once. But she can. Because she’s dreaming and therefore not bound by the limitations of the waking world.”

  I nodded slowly. That sounded almost reasonable. So why didn’t I believe it? I looked at the Somnambulist, and then back at Walker, still standing carefully behind her.

  “I want answers,” I said. “And I want Molly. And I’m going to get them, one way or another.”

  “Typical Drood,” said Walker. “Subtle as a sledgehammer.”

  “Stick with what works,” I said. “That’s what I always say . . .”

  I advanced on Walker, but the Somnambulist didn’t move. Just stood there, quietly blocking the way, eyes shut. Her face was a complete blank, as though she was thinking about something else. Or perhaps more properly, dreaming about something else. I put one hand on her shoulder, gripping firmly, to steer her out of the way, but she didn’t move. I pushed again, harder, and I still couldn’t move her. It was like trying to shift a brick wall. I put both my hands on her bony shoulders, and set all my armoured strength against her; she didn’t even notice. Which was unheard of. A Drood in his armour can move a mountain if he puts his mind to it. I clamped down with my golden hands to pick the Somnambulist up bodily, and her hands came flashin
g up with impossible speed. They grabbed my arms just below the elbows, picked me up, and held me in mid-air, with no effort at all showing in her sleeping face. And then she just threw me away.

  I shot through the air, tumbling helplessly end over end, until finally I crashed to earth again, some distance away. I hit hard, digging a deep trench in the grassy lawn, and rolled to a halt. The repeated impacts knocked all the breath out of me, even inside my armour, and for a while I just lay there, gathering my wits. It had been a long time since I’d been humiliated so easily.

  Slowly and painfully, I hauled myself out of the deep hole I’d made, and straightened up. I was actually shaken at being dismissed so easily. As though I was nothing. I was also starting to feel seriously angry. Bad enough that Walker stood between me and Molly, but a sleeping woman as well? I felt a very definite need to prove I wasn’t going to be pushed around. I strode back across the lawns to face the Somnambulist again. It took me a while. I hadn’t realised she’d thrown me so far . . . Walker was still standing behind the quietly waiting Somnambulist. As I closed in on her, he shook his head at me, more in sorrow than in anger.

  “You wouldn’t hit a woman, would you, Eddie?”

  “Hell yes,” I said. “I’m a Drood.”

  I walked right up to the Somnambulist and threw a punch at her head. She slapped the fist aside easily, even though she couldn’t have seen it coming with her eyes closed. I tried again, aiming the punch right between her eyes, with all of my armour’s strength behind it. For anyone else, that would have been a killing blow, enough to tear her head right off, but by now I was convinced the Somnambulist wouldn’t even notice anything less. This time she stopped my hand in mid-blow, her hand closing hard over mine and bringing it to an abrupt halt. I was almost thrown off balance at having my attack anticipated and stopped so effortlessly. I might even have fallen if her grasp hadn’t held me so firmly in place. I tried to pull my hand back, and found I couldn’t. Her hand clamped down fiercely on mine, the heavy ringed fingers crushing my armoured hand.